“I can see Master Givens,” John said, waving his arms at the silver-haired man leaning over the bulwark. “This is our ship, the one we are sailing on.”
They watched as Master Givens signaled for the men to throw out the mooring lines which some of the townsmen caught and fastened. The sailors descended the masts and disappeared from sight, but their footsteps could be heard as they rushed to get ready to disembark.
Thomas and John stared in awe at the ship. While they had seen others like this in past years, this one had special meaning. It was the one that was taking them to the New World. The boys waited for Master Givens as they had done for many years. Master Givens was a friend of John’s late father. He always stopped in to see John’s mother, and John and Thomas usually greeted him when the ship docked.
Thomas heard Master Givens give the signal to his first mate to lower the gang plank. Givens descended to the dock, his men walking behind. Some of the sailors were greeted by young women they had met on the last voyage while others headed off the dock into town.
“Hello John, Thomas,” Master Givens said.
“We are going with you,” John blurted out. “We have been picked to go to York Factory.”
Thomas could see the look of dismay on Givens’ face. “Your mother is letting you?” Givens asked
“Yes.”
Thomas and John exchanged glances as Givens muttered. “I told her not to.”
“Do you not want me to go?” John asked, a quiver in his voice.
“It is not the place you think it is.” Givens strode away.
“But Mother says it is the best place for me,” John said, hurrying to keep up with Givens. “She says I have no future here.”
Thomas followed behind, suddenly fearful that John would not be going with him. And if John did not go, who would he have for company?
The boys followed Givens into Isbister’s Store. They stood beside the counter, their mood subdued, while Givens conducted his business.
“Ah, good day, Master Givens.” Simon Isbister greeted him from behind his counter. “A few days late this year.”
“Bad weather,” Givens responded. “Twice we had to pull into a bay to wait out a storm.”
“It has been particularly blowy here too this spring,” Simon agreed. “Although we have had some hot days.”
Givens pulled out his list and handed it to Simon. “These are the supplies I need, and my men will be around tomorrow to begin picking them up.”
Simon looked at the list and nodded.
From Isbister’s Store, Givens walked to see Anderson. The boys trailed behind.
“Afternoon, Givens,” Anderson said, when the master entered his office. “How was the sail?”
“Stormy. The other two ships had to stop for repairs and will be here later this week. What do you have for me?”
Anderson picked up a sheet of paper.
“Here are the names of all the boys who wanted to go to the bay this year,” he said, showing Givens the list. “There are not as many as in past years. I have picked out the eight who will sail with you.”
Anderson handed him another sheet with eight names.
“Are they all in town, or nearby?”
“Yes, I gave them their usual physical and asked them if they were sure they wanted to go.”
“Do you have a replacement if one of them does not go?”
Thomas cringed as he looked over at John who was standing with his head bowed.
“Oh, yes,” Anderson grinned. “A couple of the boys from distant villages have come to see me this week. They were turned down, but said they are staying with relatives and would be ready in an hour if given the signal.”
“I will be back at the square at eight o’clock tonight to meet the boys,” Givens said.
“They will be there.”
“I am just going to have a drink at the well, and then I will be seeing your mother,” Givens said to John, as they stepped out onto the street.
Givens, with his two shadows, walked to the granite quays and drew some water from Login’s Well. He drank deeply.
“I never tire of this water,” he said.
Thomas knew it was the first fresh water he had had since leaving London. This was also a main reason the ships of the Company stopped at the islands. It was their last chance to stock up on fresh water before sailing across the Atlantic Ocean.
Givens knocked on the wooden door of John’s house then lifted the latch. Thomas hesitated, unsure about entering behind his friend. There was going to be a discussion and it was none of his business. He walked over to Nellie and rubbed her nose.
“Come on.” John beckoned from the doorway.
“I think I should go home,”
“No,” John wailed. “You have to come in. I need you on my side.”
Thomas stood just inside the door. John’s mother was bent over the large, black kettle hanging in the fireplace. He could smell the stew as she stirred the contents, then pushed the kettle back over the fire. She turned, a smile on her lips. It faded as she looked from face to face.
“What is the matter?” she asked.
“Why are you letting John go to the bay?” Givens demanded. “I thought we had agreed he would not.”
“No, you agreed he would not.” She took a step towards John and put her arm around him.
Givens shook his head. “And you know why. It is a hard, lonely life. Men go crazy there. Some even kill, or commit suicide.” He paused and looked at John. “I know I am not his real father, but I have known him since he was small and even though we only see each other for a few days once a year, I think we have developed a relationship of sorts. I like him and I do not want to see him in the new land.”
“Just because you did not like it, there is no reason why you should stop him from trying it. Times have changed.”
“When the forts were first built in the 1670s the men lived in little posts and traded guns, powder, kettles, and other items, to the Indians for beaver furs. They still do the same today. The only change is the posts are larger and much better built.”
“It is John’s only way of getting ahead,” Martha argued. “And you know when I did not let him sign on as a cabin boy on a sailing ship three years ago that I promised he could join the Company when he turned fifteen. It was my way of making sure he does not die at sea like his father.”
“And Thomas is going,” John interrupted.
“It is not an easy life over there,” Givens insisted.
“From the stories you have told me, it is a better one than being a sailor. Besides, I can give him nothing. He has no future here. At least he will have a job, a roof over his head, and some money with which to buy some land when he comes back.”
“If he comes back,” Givens said.
“What makes you say that?” Martha asked.
“You know as well as I do that many of the boys who go over there stay with the Company for years, or head someplace else with their money, or even die. You might never see John again.”
“Oh yes, I will,” Martha said. She hugged John closer to her. “He has promised to write me, and he will come back here when he is finished his service.”
John ducked out of her embrace not acknowledging her words. He went to stand beside Thomas.
“I hope so,” Givens said. After a few moments of silence he continued. “I guess I am just as worried about you as I am about John. But you will still have Sandra with you.”
“Sandra went to London to work last fall.”
“She did? What are you going to do with both children gone?”
“I do not know. I guess I will just keep on living as best I can.”
“Why do you not stay and marry her?” John asked.
Thomas elbowed him in the ribs as Martha exclaimed. “John. That is not something for you to say.” Her face was red as she glanced at Givens.
“Why not? If he is so worried about you, he should stay and look after you. After all he has bee
n visiting you every year for nine years. That is a very long courtship.”
Givens turned to John. “I have my reasons for not marrying your mother.”
“Oh, and what are they?” John challenged.
Thomas held his breath. Why was John provoking Master Givens? Why did he not just keep quiet, especially when it looked as if his mother had won the argument?
Givens looked down at his hands. “I have other people to think about.”
“Another family?”
There was a pause. “Yes.”
Thomas saw Martha’s face fall. From what John had said over the years she kept hoping Givens would leave the Company one day and stay with her. But now she knew he would not.
“I have to go,” Thomas said wishing, as he slipped out the door, that he had left earlier.
Chapter 4
York Factory, Rupert’s Land. May 1750.
Little Bird stood just outside her teepee flap. The overnight spring rain had left the ground a muddy mess and the thick cloud overhead threatened more rain. She had on her oldest pair of moccasins, not wanting to dirty her new ones. She leaned back into the teepee.
“Come on, Grandmother. Let us go to the river.” For as long as she could remember, her grandmother had taken her to watch the flooding river in the spring.
“No. I must finish these moccasins. Maybe tomorrow.”
Little Bird sighed. Moccasins. All her mother and grandmother did over the winter was make moccasins and leggings to trade at the post for flour, dried peas, and beans, or sometimes cheese, if it was not too old. The white men with native wives had their moccasins made for them, but the single men had to rely on the ones brought in from the village. And since the moccasins were worn constantly, they wore out quickly and had to be replaced often.
“Do you want to come, Spotted Fawn?”
“No,” Spotted Fawn answered.
“Why not?” Little Bird asked, although she knew the answer. For Spotted Fawn, the opening of the river meant White Paddler would soon be leaving her.
“I just do not. You go on your own.”
“Go with her, Spotted Fawn,” Moon Face said. “It is no good for you to sit moping all day.”
“Oh, all right.”
Little Bird and Spotted Fawn kept to the drier areas as they headed through the village. Since the snow disappeared, activity had increased in the village. White Paddler had men making new canoes from the birch bark he had brought back from inland last fall. Other men were busy repairing some older canoes. Little Bird noticed that Spotted Fawn kept her eyes averted from the work as if denying it was taking place. She suddenly felt sorry for her sister.
They reached the shore and stood for a moment staring at the swirling waters. In the spring, meltwater from the river and its tributaries upstream swelled the river. It gathered speed and strength as it roared past the village to its mouth at the bay. Its normally clear water was the color and consistency of mud. Uprooted trees, chunks of ice, animal carcasses, and other debris, churned along in the deluge.
One family stood in a circle on a bank above the rushing river. They cried and chanted the mourning song. Today was the anniversary of the death of three of their children who drowned when the ground they were standing on was swept away by the river. The whole village had spent days searching the banks downstream and along the bay but the little bodies had never been found. Little Bird and Spotted Fawn avoided them, leaving them to their mourning.
Little Bird and Spotted Fawn carefully followed the shoreline past other villagers watching the rushing torrent. It held a fearful fascination for them, a sign of Mother Earth’s strength.
“Listen,” Little Bird said.
They stopped and cocked their heads. Above the noise they could hear the dull clunking of the boulders being pushed along the bottom of the river by the force of the waters.
They looked at each other and grinned. This was their favorite sign of spring. It, along with the buzzing of flies, the yellow heads of the dandelions, and the flocks of ducks and geese heading north, was a sign that the long winter was over.
Spotted Fawn found a dry rock to sit on. Little Bird joined her.
“Do you think I should go west with White Paddler?” Spotted Fawn asked.
Little Bird looked down at the fast-flowing, muddied river. She did not know how to answer that. She wanted Spotted Fawn to stay, would miss her terribly if she went, but in their culture a woman’s place was with her husband.
“He could use a woman to cook his meals and keep him warm at night.”
“I know.”
“He wants you to.”
“I know, but he said he would not force me.”
“Will you miss him?”
“Yes.”
“But if you do go you will not see Grandfather this summer.”
“I know that, too.”
Little Bird was silent. She could think of nothing more to say.
Spotted Fawn sighed. “When he came back last fall and asked me to marry him, I thought I only had to worry about him returning to his home across the ocean, like Grandfather. I did not know I would have to worry about him leaving me to go inland, too.”
“At least your time together is longer than Grandmother and Grandfather’s.”
“That is small consolation.”
Little Bird picked up a tree branch and threw it into the turbulent waters. They both watched as it jerked and twisted then finally disappeared from sight.
“White Paddler is being so nice to me,” Spotted Fawn continued. “When we gathered wood together, he picked me a bouquet of the dandelions. He even took me on a picnic, although it was hard to find some dry ground to sit on.”
She threw herself back on the damp ground. “Oh, if only Grandfather would decide to live with us, then I could go with White Paddler. Or if only White Paddler would stay and work at the post like the other men, then I would be here to see Grandfather.”
“Life is not that easy,” Little Bird said, turning to look down at her.
Spotted Fawn sat up again. “What would you do if he was your husband?”
Little Bird shrugged. She thought of her grandmother staying here while her husband left.
“Have you asked Grandmother?”
“Yes. She told me I had to do what I thought was right.”
“And what is that?”
“I do not know.” Spotted Fawn’s voice was filled with anguish.
“I cannot tell you what to do, either,” Little Bird said.
* * *
After the noon meal White Paddler prepared to go to the Company store at the fort.
“Do you want to come with me?” he asked Spotted Fawn.
“Yes.”
“May I come, too?” Little Bird asked. It was seldom that she went to the store, or even the fort. The store clerk did not like the natives to come unless they had something to trade, and the Company did not encourage visits to the post except during the trading season. She would be let into the post if she stated she wanted to see one of the native wives, but since she did not know any of them very well, she never went.
White Paddler nodded and stepped outside.
“Will you take these moccasins to the Company store and trade them for flour, dried peas, and some beads?” Patient Woman asked Little Bird. “And some tobacco. I have run out of what your grandfather brought me last summer.”
“Sure, Grandmother.” Little Bird took the sack of moccasins.
The assistant store clerk looked up from his ledger when they entered. He smiled at White Paddler but frowned when he saw Spotted Fawn and Little Bird.
“Keep your hands away from the merchandise,” he said to them, closing the ledger.
“This is my wife, Wemple,” White Paddler said, a hint of anger in his voice.
“I know who she is,” Wemple said. “But Clerk Bailey wants me to warn all the Indians. Every time they leave the store, supplies are moved about and I have to spend hours sorting and putting them bac
k where they belong.”
Little Bird concealed a smile. She had heard stories about how the men of the village went in groups to the store, each with one skin to trade. They knew the clerk and his assistant watched them carefully so while one was doing business the others wandered the aisles picking up a hammer and putting it with the axes or filling a pail from the flour bin and leaving it in a corner.
Little Bird held up the sack. “My Grandmother, Patient Woman, sent these over to trade for flour, beads, peas, and tobacco.”
Wemple took the sack and opened it. He removed each moccasin and studied it before setting it on the counter. When he had the eight pair lined up in front of him he nodded with satisfaction.
“You can have two pounds of peas, three pounds of flour, one-quarter pound of beads, and one-half role of tobacco. I will get them for you shortly.”
Little Bird nodded and moved away with Spotted Fawn. They looked at the merchandise while listening to the conversation between White Paddler and the assistant clerk.
“What do you need today?” Wemple asked.
White Paddler handed him a piece of paper. “I am going inland again this spring to trade with the Indians, Mr. Wemple. This is a list of supplies for the trip and the goods I need for trading.”
Wemple looked at the list. “That is a lot of powder and shot.”
“The Indians will trade many fine skins for powder and shot for their muskets.”
“You also want muskets.”
“Yes, it is a symbol of prestige for them to own more than one.”
Wemple continued down the list mumbling some of the items under his breath. “What about brandy?”
White Paddler shook his head. “I do not believe in getting the Indians drunk so their judgement is clouded before the trading. That is the way of most of the French traders.”
West to the Bay Page 3
